


Little Mouse

by carefulfear



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Addiction, Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Anxiety, But has a wild side, Depression, Drug Addict Molly Hooper, Drug Addict Sherlock, Drug Addiction, Drug Use, Eventual Relationships, Eventual Romance, F/M, Heavy Angst, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Molly is shy and quiet, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Past Drug Use, Past Lives, Past Relationship(s), Pining, Recreational Drug Use, Sad, Self-Harm, Social Anxiety, Underage Drug Use, Young Sherlock, season 4
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-23
Updated: 2020-07-07
Packaged: 2021-02-27 19:26:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 18,054
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22860967
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/carefulfear/pseuds/carefulfear
Summary: Molly's struggle with past demons come to haunt her as she's pushed past her breaking point emotionally, spiralling into habits she'd finally given up when she started her dream career. Before the fall and St. Barts she was someone completely different - and so was Sherlock. She knew who he was the day he was shown  through the door to be introduced to her. A flashback from her past that she never expected. She never thought she'd laid eyes on the boy, now a fully grown man, ever again.  Not with the way they were living back in the day.A look inside of Molly, her past habits and her relationship with Sherlock Holmes.
Relationships: Sherlock Holmes/Molly Hooper
Comments: 26
Kudos: 80





	1. Chapter 1

It was just her luck that he walked through the doors of her morgue all those years ago. Talk about a flashback from the past - it almost made her fall over when she laid her eyes on him, recognisable even after all these years. If he recognised her, he didn’t give it away as he strode towards her. His walk was still the same, it still oozed an arrogance no other man had been able to pull off since she saw it for the first time. Mike is next to the ghost from her past and he’s talking, introducing  _ Sherlock  _ Holmes, not  _ Locky  _ to her _. _ No longer the skinny, unkempt boy that everyone only knew by the name of Locky, his dark curls always sitting perfectly even when it was clear they’d gone too long without a shower. He looks healthy, face fuller and older, eyes just as wonderful as back then. When she finally pulls his eyes off of his face she looks down to see a hand outstretched and she remembers they’re waiting for her to talk,  _ don’t make this any weirder than it already is,  _ so she shakes the hand offered and opens her mouth. “Molly Hooper. Forensic pathologist here at Bart’s, obviously! Nice to meet you, Sherlock. What brings you down here?” It came out clearer than she expected it to. 

“Nice to meet you too. I’m interested in conducting studies on the dead and I’m in need of a pathologist that will let me do that. I am the world’s first consulting detective and these studies would be very beneficial to the work.” That voice was the same one, if not even more deeper than before. No matter how messed up she was during that time, she’d remember the voice. The face. The hair. It’s etched into her memory, the man she’d stare at from afar in the dirty and grimy places she’d never expect to see him in. Or herself, really, but there they both were. She remembers the night he noticed her for the first time, back in the dimly lit crack dens, he noticed everyone around him yet his eyes had lingered on her and it sent shivers through her entire body. Those eyes were always calculating, even when he looked like he was one line away from dropping dead right where he stood, he was still thinking and she had felt those eyes take her in completely before moving past her. That was the start of it all.

It was so hard to read him but she tried anyway, tried to figure out if there and any recognition of the girl that she used to be in his eyes. The girl that’d lean over the coffee table and snort a line in front of a group of people taking their turns after her. Part of her wants to say there is, there’s some small little bit of him that remembers her through all of his drug-induced states yet she can’t say with certainty he does and it hurts a little bit, although what did she expect? Mike is starting to look at her like she’s going to collapse any second now and she clears her throat before trying to talk again. Sherlock doesn’t even move at the sound. “I’m sure we can arrange something, do you want to tell me a bit about your work?" she tried to sound normal, like her usual quiet and mousey self. That’s how everyone knew her now, the little mouse in the morgue. Quiet and shy. 

That was years ago though, they were both different people now. John Watson had changed Sherlock completely, got him off the heroin ( _ thank god  _ Molly had never touched that stuff) and working. Eating consistently, even when they were on a case. It was a miracle and Molly was so happy for Sherlock, so happy to watch from afar and enjoy seeing him look  _ healthy  _ and on some level at peace was enough for her and her unrequited love. She’d come to terms with that after Tom, the engagement that ended yet didn’t break her even if everyone thought it would. Helping with the fall had almost broken her and she had to break down silently, by herself with no prying eyes so nobody figured out what was happening, or else people would get hurt. She held it together, went through all the business with Tom and now she’s just.. Existing and the last few weeks she’s been pushed to her limits. All the small things that have gone wrong have piled up and she’s drowning in them now. She feels like she’s going back to her overly shy and awkward self when she has been working hard to come out of her shell again. Become a better version of her old self, before she started getting her career together.

She longs for a night when she’d go partying with her friends, dressed to show off her usually hidden assets for a change. It was always usually a short skirt and a tall pair of heels that nobody believes she can walk with until they see her doing it with minimal effort, thanks to shit ton of practice with her mother's heels growing up. She used to dress differently, heels and skirts instead of pants and flats. Her hair never used to be tucked into a bun or ponytail and she walked with confidence. That was probably the drugs she used to take that helped with that, though. It’s hard some days, but she keeps telling herself she can’t let those old habits back in because Sherlock would look at her and know. He’d be able to tell the second she walked into the morgue if she’d relapsed. It used to be fun, though, and she used to feel carefree. There was never this heavy tension in her shoulders from the last few years and everything she’d been put through. It was easier to be the partying socialite drug addict she used to be than this fragile woman with a love so unrequited it hurts. 

It wasn’t healthy, this train of thought. Getting lost in the dream of what shouldn’t be. Swept up in the good memories of it all when in reality there were just as many, if not more, bad memories too. Withdrawls, the  _ itch  _ inside of her that wanted more. She’d dextoed a few times in her late teens to early twenties before she managed to escape addictions claws. It was a horrific time and she was glad to be done with it, but that didn’t mean the cravings for it left. It was a long road, battling this by herself. Tom knew nothing of it, she could never speak a word to him about it. It was her secret past, her former life. Nobody had to know. Except Sherlock, he knew. He knew and  _ he  _ bought it up during the night they spent working on his fake death. Molly can remember him looking at her after he’d ask for her help and she had stopped to look at him. He’d told her how he remembered her. He hadn’t forgotten, he’d said, and he’s glad she’s doing better. It had shaken her and she had to give herself a moment to recover before replying. She can’t even remember what she’d said in response now, probably repressed it out of embarrassment. All she can remember is feeling shocked and touched, in a way, that he waited until a point in their lives when they were both healthy, sober and mostly happy. Content.

It had made her feel warm that he’s thought of her since then. Looked at her more than just the former junkie, or the forensic pathologist with a huge crush on him. It had changed their relationship in small ways. Molly felt a little bit more relaxed around him and he had stopped using her crush on him against her for a change. It was nice and it felt easy, for a change. Even now with these new developments with her ever changing relationship with the consulting detective, Molly wasn’t okay. Hadn’t felt okay in weeks and it was getting worse. She was slipping, lost in the past and the emotions it stirred within her. Lost in the events of the last few months that she hadn’t processed. There hadn’t been any time to, really. It felt like it was time to take a few days off of work, a rarity for Molly, who had always put her career first when she became serious about it. It was time to finally put herself first again, even if it was only for a few days. 


	2. Chapter 2

She thought he’d go away if she ignored the phone call. Everything in her body had told her not to answer it, today wasn’t the day to put up with him, but because it was him she had picked it up anyway. That’s the thing about unrequited love, she can’t help but want to talk to him and appreciate each and every word he speaks directly to her - even if she wants to slap him for making her feel so twisted up inside. Molly feels like death warmed up today, made sure to put on her favourite colourful jumper to try and cheer herself up a little. The tea was her back-up plan when the jumper failed and now it’s being completely forgotten about while she reels from what just happened. Despite the warning signs her body was trying to give her she’d answer the call and she wishes she had the ability to tell herself no when it came to Sherlock, if it was anyone else she wouldn’t have touched her phone. The phone itself is clutched to her chest and she’s shaking with silent sobs, tears running freely down her face. He said  _ those  _ words to her, the words she’s heard in dreams when he’s whispering it in her ear, arms wrapped around her.  _ I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you. _

It was all she could hear and it made her want to throw the fucking phone across the room and stomp on it until it’s in teeny tiny pieces. Although, it isn’t the  _ phones _ fault. It’s his. Locky, the junkie that had caught her eye. Locky, the man who’d shown her kindness in unkind places. If he remembers her from before, then he remembers their brief interactions. They were few and far in between but once Molly had seen him a few too many times in the same dens, she made her move. Confident Molly wasn’t intimidated and she wanted a challenge. When she was high she was unstoppable (most of the time) and she used to take advantage of that. It’s hard to remember what they’d spoken about but Locky hadn’t indulged her and offered her a cigarette instead. She won’t forget the both of them eyeing each other up, studying his unique silhouette and the full head of curls. It was like her whole life was exposed under his gaze and she quickly learnt it that it was. He had amazed her when he deduced her, stunned her into silence since she had somehow become an open book when she’d worked hard to keep her personal life private in those kinds of places. 

Now, they were both older, but her feelings hadn’t changed. Maybe they were more intense than before but that was  _ totally  _ not creepy. She was not creepy about her crush, she’d like to think, although she felt like it was taking that turn when she was on the phone, waiting to hear him say it first. It wouldn’t have scared her if the phone had snapped in half when he said it - she was gripping it so goddamn tight. It was tempting to hang up after he’d said it. He  _ was  _ a bastard, afterall. He was cruel. Molly knew he was going to struggle to force those words out for her. Especially when they weren’t even remotely true and he hates to show any type of affection towards her, unless it was necessary. To gain something from her. Manipulate her. She vowed to never answer his phone calls again as she finally set the phone back onto the table. It was time to move on, she may love him but she doesn’t want to anymore. She’d had enough and it she knows now, after Tom, that she is deserving of love and attention. Someone who wants to hold her hand as they walk together, kiss her forehead before she goes to work. That won’t be Sherlock. 

It hurt even thinking about letting him go, well,  _ actually  _ trying to let him go this time. Too many times she’s half-assed it because he’ll come into the morgue wearing that too small purple shirt or he’ll bring her a coffee and chips, sweet talk her into letting him stay in her life a little bit longer. No more, for good this time. For her own sanity, which seems to be slipping further and further away the longer she stands in the kitchen staring at the phone that’s sitting on the bench, right with the cold tea. One day soon she’ll be forty, alone, no children but more cats, for sure. It feels like it’s right around the corner and what does she have to show for it? It’s pathetic, she feels pathetic and she downs a mouthful of the cold tea in an attempt to dull the itch that’s stuck in her throat right now. She already wanted to text Mike that she needed a few more days off to get through the next week alone, avoiding everyone, but it wouldn’t do her any good to isolate herself now. It was time to lick her wounds and then say something to  _ his _ face. Make it clear that he isn’t welcome in the morgue anymore while she’s working. Or the lab. Her career is more important than him and she’s done more than enough to help him. 

  
  


-

  
  


Her phone is on silent, buried under a pillow on the couch. Out of sight, out of mind or whatever the hell. It isn’t out of mind though, she’s thinking about when she’ll get another text from Sherlock. She’d already received a few that she decided not to open. That was a surprise to even her, but there’s a determination within her that wasn’t there before. It’s hard to process what happened before, it’s been hours now yet it still feels so surreal to her. Like it was a dream, something that would never actually happen. It has, though, and now she’s said those words to him she isn’t sure when she’ll be able to face him and it’ll happen one day soon she guesses. Maybe he’ll turn up today, apologetic and needing her to come down to Bart’s for something. Maybe she should leave the flat, force herself to go out and into the public. Buy a bath bomb and some alcohol. Getting drunk usually means she’ll cry excessively at some point wake up with a terrible hangover. Somewhere from the back of her mind she can hear  _ you need something stronger, you need something str- _ being whispered and it’s terrible to say that she wants to run back to it. 

It’s taking everything in her not to text an old friend who’s also conveniently a dealer, the last she heard. She has very few little contacts left because it’s been a lifetime since she’s ever had the need for one and right now feels like a need for one. This is her way of saying  _ fuck you, Sherlock,  _ even though she shouldn’t. It isn’t right to blame this on him when this is her wanting to fuck her life up completely and nobody around to stop her. She’s choosing to give in instead of fighting back like she’s had to do so many times before. There’s no fight left in her this time, just the itch that’s consuming her now. It doesn’t take her too long to pull herself up from her bed once she’s decided to do it, walking to her phone before she can talk sense to herself. Ignoring the texts from Sherlock she finds the contact she’s looking for and shoots off the code that indicates she’s looking to score and it feels just as surreal as the phone call that happened. It’s been sent and it’s too late to take it back, all she can do now is wait for a text back to see what happens from here.

Her heart is racing, pacing the lounge room with the phone in her hand so she can feel when it’s going to vibrate. She remembers the first time she’d ever tried anything, she was smoking pot with a highschool friend at a party. Everyone says it’s a gateway to other drugs, yet she disagrees. Pot was the tamest thing she had ever tried and only tried harder stuff when she started going to clubs and there were girls snorting lines in the bathroom and when someone offered a bump to her she hadn’t even thought twice before accepting. From there she spiralled, it was hard not to when there was drugs everywhere she turned when she went out and she always told herself it isn’t that bad if it’s just on weekends, right? At parties, with her friends. Social usage is perfectly acceptable and it’s under control. That’s what they all say, she knows, but she did think she had it under control back then. It wasn’t until she was making excuses to go out to parties on a Thursday night, then Wednesday nights. School wasn’t important, applying for university and starting her life was put on the back burner for booze, boys and drugs. 

It would be easy to blame it on family problems, her mother dying at an early age and all that. Except, if Molly was being honest, it was mainly because she was selfish. She wanted to have fun, feel nothing and stop having to deal with the same routine everyday. It was fun to sneak out and come back early in the morning, only getting a few hours of sleep if she was lucky before waking up and acting like she wasn’t still under the influence. Of course her dad put it together eventually and she felt terrible for what she was doing yet she couldn’t stop herself and soon enough it days passed before she would return home without a word as to where she’s been or what she’s been up to. She wasn’t mad when her dad put his foot down and kicked her out, fed up after so many nights up late worrying. It had hurt, of course, and pushed her further into the world of self-destruction she was already neck deep into anyway. It could’ve been an opportunity to get it together, stop her reckless ways and go back to being daddy’s good daughter yet she had walked out after apologising to him. 

That was the night she had met Sherlock. It’s always felt like fate, for Molly. Everything has always gone back to him, back to drugs, back to self-hatred and unrequited love. She doesn’t get the chance to dwell too much on it because her phone goes off in her hand and she’s reading the text as quick as she can. It doesn’t take long to send off how far away she is and then she’s grabbing her jacket, keys and she’s walking out the door. 


	3. Chapter 3

There was this little bag half-filled with the most enticing looking white powder she’d seen in a while. It was dangerous to let it go this far, now she couldn’t stop it even if she tried. There was guilt inside of her already and all she could do was stare at the bag on the table in front of her with her hands on her hips. Her eyes were stuck on it, glued to it and for a moment she wanted Sherlock to walk through the door and tip it down the toilet. Part of her thought she’d slap the life out of him if he even knocked on her door right now. In the back pocket of her jeans she felt her phone vibrate but she couldn’t be bothered reading it. Who cares, she had  _ this  _ in front of her and it had all of her attention right now. She’d feel so euphoric and energetic if she took it. She could get shit done around here, clean her house, zen out from all of the stress she was dealing with. She could escape.

That’s what she wanted, right? An escape, a way out of everything, even if it was the wrong way. She could have a weekend bender though, seeing as she had the time off of work. If she did this she absolutely had to go back to work and continue her sober life. It’d be a one time thing, her off the rails moment that still seems justified to her. There were butterflies in her stomach as she’d met her old dealer and friend for a subtle exchange of cash for a baggie. Nothing had really been said between them and she was in and out quickly, wanting to get home and be alone while she processed what she had just done for the first time in forever. Now, she’s home and it’s hard to think about anything with the temptation right there. 

Unsure why she was hesitating, she took the bag and poured out a small amount onto her kitchen bench with a confidence she didn’t have before. It didn’t take her long to work it into a smooth line, just like she was used to. Her old life was staring at her and she was allowing her to dip her toes into this again. _ Only for a little bit,  _ she told herself as she lowered her head to the bench. It was an easy process, second nature to her even after all this time. Her nose stun afterwards, and she rubbed it while her eyes watered. There was no guilt yet, just a sense of peace within her right now. It was bringing back so many memories she would never let herself think about. Of her, on the dance floor, high and moving with the music as bodies pressed up against her. Clinging on to her friend's shoulder as they pushed their way through crowds and into bathrooms for lines together. The laughter as they were pressed into the small stalls, talking as they passed around whatever they had that night. Here she is now, alone, sad, stressed. She stands in the kitchen waiting for it to hit her and take her thoughts to a better place. 

-

Hours later, who knows how many, it’s dark outside and Molly has almost finished the entire contents of the little baggie bought earlier. Feels like it wasn’t that long ago that she was leaving the house to get it and now it’s almost all gone. It had hit her hard and fast. When it did she had forgotten about any concerns or worries she had and she focused on what to do, full of energy and happier thoughts than what she was stuck on before. She couldn’t think about Sherlock for long enough to worry about it before he eventually stopped popping into her head at all. Her room was clean, music was playing through the speakers in the living room and it was probably too loud but she  _ didn’t  _ care. Molly danced her way around her house, singing along and feeling happy. Carefree. Her hair was down, she was dressed in pajama shorts and a loose top - bra free. It wasn’t often she let herself act like this, like nothing was wrong and she was just a teenager singing along to songs that are too old and almost cringey in today's age. It felt amazing and she revelled in it while she could, while it would last. When she could feel herself losing that feeling, the freedom, there wasn’t even a part of her that hesitated when she poured out more from the bag on the counter. If she could go back she would have tried to exercise self-control, yet knows it’s an impossible fight when under the influence. It’s so easy to lose track of how much she’s had before it’s gone and she shouldn’t be making another visit to her dealer so soon. 

No, she'll stop after this. There was enough for one more small bump and then that would be it. She’ll try and sleep, probably won’t succeed very much for a while, and move on with her life and deal with her emotions. She will. There’s no conviction in that right now, yet she’ll sober up fully in the morning and she’ll regret this. It’s impossible to tell when she will be able to sleep after she takes the last bit of the cocaine, rubbing her nose for a little bit too long. It burned, her nostrils aren’t used to this anymore and the pain from it grounds her somewhat. It reminds her that this is a part of the bad side of it. The sore and often bloody noses. She stopped noticing the hot flushes ages ago, the air conditioner on while she danced around the house. 

Around the corner there will be a comedown, a reality check, and this will be a memory that will be just hers. No one else’s.  _ The Weekend Molly Broke Down.  _ It makes her laugh, loud and slightly worrying. Maybe it shouldn’t be so funny, but after everything this is what broke her? The man who had been at his worst in front of her multiple times pushed her back to being her worst. Or her best. Depends on how you look at it.  _ No,  _ it was her  _ worst.  _ She has to remind herself because this is how it starts. It sucked her in with how it made her feel, everything was easier and done with a certain level of confidence and swagger she doesn’t have sober no matter how hard she tries. Her throat will still itch when she comes down, worse than before now, but she will have to push through. She’ll have to trust that she can push through it again. 

  
  


-

  
  


Sleep had been long forgotten by six in the morning. It was a restless sleep, tossing and turning until she gave up sometime after five. There was no point trying to deny how fucking depressed she felt when she opened her eyes this morning. When she eventually managed to drag herself to the couch, trying not to look at her reflection as she passed the mirror, she fell onto it. Didn’t need to see how she looked just yet, too early for that. She hasn’t even had a coffee and did not have the energy to make it. Her phone was shoved in between the cushions and after Molly pulled it out there wasn’t much battery life left. There were text messages from Sherlock and John. John seemed eager to get in touch with her, so obviously he knew what had happened then. That fact wasn’t surprising at all, although it did make her feel worse, if possible. John was trying to clean up Sherlock’s mess yet again and keep her on his good side. It was hard to open the texts from  _ him.  _ She wasn’t prepared for it but clicked on his name anyway and read them. There were a few more than she had expected, some of them urging her to be safe. She snorted. 

Sherlock was hardly ever safe. Even when they first met he was always getting into trouble with the dealers, sometimes facing injuries that looked so swollen and sore that Molly knew they’d be a nice purple colour with bloodied scabs in a few days. One time she had helped clean him up after he had passed out, lip and eyebrow bleeding in the dark drug den. It was a run down apartment building, a few junkies scattered around the room while Molly was bent over Locky. His hair was oily and he looked like it had been a few days since he last showered but she had decided she couldn’t leave him to bleed everywhere. There were already enough germs and who knew what else around here. Sherlock wouldn’t have any memory of the injury or how it had been cleaned up when he woke, he had been so doped up he hadn’t realised much of what was happening before he lost consciousness. Heroin will do that. 

  
There were a few more telling her he was sorry, he wanted to explain in person. She dropped her phone on the couch next to her when she was done reading. In this moment, when she’s swamped by sadness and tiredness that she can’t sleep off, not one ounce of her cares. There’s nothing in her that can make her care about him right now. It’s time to turn on the television, watch something that can distract her from how she’s feeling and maybe, just maybe, she’ll get to nap if she picks something good. Nothing is planned for today, her last day off before going back to work. He would visit her, she’s sure, and it makes her stomach twist uncomfortably. She’ll have to face him and she  _ will  _ tell him how she’s feeling. She will do that and come home and stay sober the entire time. It’s a plan she’s trying to convince herself she can pull off, which isn’t going too well for her in this state. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i hate writers block and i have so much time to write right now. god damn it.   
> stay safe.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello!  
> Haven't had much motivation in me lately, but we can thank Joji and his song Gimmie Love for the motivation. Good tune.  
> Can't say for sure when the next chapter will be up, but I do have a plan for this and I will finish it. 
> 
> (should mention it's just me writing this so if there's any spelling/grammatical errors v sorry, i like to write when baked or sad and there tends to be some shit that always slips past me.)

Her alarm went off when she was already lying awake in her bed, waiting for time to pass. It’s time to get up, get dressed and make a tea-to-go so she can get out of the door and on her way to work. Work will be interesting, given that she hasn’t slept at all and knew that she’d face either John or the _other_ one that she won’t mention by name. He isn’t Voldemort, but she doesn’t dare let his name into her mind because he’ll ruin her day instantly. Instead, she’ll get up. It hurts her body and soul to have to leave the safety of her small apartment but it’s a necessity. It’s her life. Work has always been her life and priority since she’d gotten it together and now was no time to throw it away. Lack of sleep or not. Lack of _sanity_ or not, she should say. Aches and pains across her body, a headache forming behind her eyes from the lack of sleep and she couldn’t bring herself to call in sick.

There’s no slim detective pushed up against a wall outside waiting for her like she expects when she walks into the hospital. He isn’t near the morgue either, hanging around in the shadows for her. It isn’t until she’s inside her secondary safe-haven that her fingers unclench from around her cup of tea. It was quiet in the workplace, nobody else was in so she could let her facade down for a while. Feelings of anxiety coursed through her at the anticipation of either of the Baker Street boys walking through the doors. She’d lock the door and turn on some music if it wouldn’t get her into trouble. Instead, she’ll have to settle for working in silence, unsure if she could concentrate on a podcast which she usually enjoys while she works through autopsies and paperwork. There weren't many bodies to be dealt with today, so she could sneak away to the labs to waste the rest of the day there. It’d be boring, but she could use some boring. Molly felt exhausted, mentally and physically. She was going between waves of depression and anxiety, her mental health struggles to pick her back up after her cocaine-fueled time off. 

  
  
  


-

  
  
  


Deep down, there was a small part of her that was thrilled she had the guts to go through with it again. That part of her wants to relive it, rebel against the quiet and tame life she’s grown accustomed to. It was also the part that pushed her to buy it again in the first place. Her mind kept wandering back to those days before she embraced adulthood. It had been easy to keep going back for more, crashing at dealer’s houses and going to parties with them just to maintain a supply whenever she wanted it. It was when she was stuck in the past that the door swung open, the sound resounding throughout the morgue. When Molly turned to see who it was, stomach in a tight knot, she didn’t know if she should be relieved at seeing John Watson walking in alone or not. He smiled weakly at her when she looked over and she felt no need to give one back today. She didn’t even feel like trying to be polite at this moment. Was he-who-can’t-be-named sending John to do his dirty work for him once again? Cover over the hurt with her so she can go back to being his lab slave? 

“Molly, hi. I thought I’d pop in to check up on you, you haven’t answered any of my texts and we’ve both been worried, so I-” before he can get a chance to finish his sentence, something inside Molly snaps. 

“So he sent you to clean up his mess? Since you’re so worried I’m guessing you know what happened. I don’t care about the details. I don’t want to know. You can tell Locky he can find someone else to deal with his needs, I’m not doing it anymore. I’m done putting myself through this.” Every word had been cold and harsh, yet she froze immediately after she’d finished talking. Sherlock’s old nickname, Locky, had slipped out of her mouth before she had time to realise and she saw the moment John heard it. His head turned slightly and his eyes narrowed at her in curiosity. “I have to go, sorry,” She didn’t give him any time to protest as she rushed past him, work forgotten behind her as she pushed through the doors and basically ran to the toilets around the corner.

When she was locked in a stall, back pushed up against it, she felt her shoulders slowly relax. She was breathing quickly, thoughts racing as she thought of what John might do and he’s _definitely_ telling Sherlock, probably has him on the phone already asking him if he knew that Molly Hooped called him _Locky._ The embarrassment was already starting to eat her whole and she didn’t know how to face the doctor again. He was curious, following in his best friends footsteps and it clearly showed these days. She wasn’t allowed to have a single day back before they came to sort out whatever the hell that phone call was about. Neither of them managed to take in her feelings most of the time and she was fed up with feeling like Sherlock’s puppet. Even with the anxiety racing through her she felt victory at her words towards the doctor, though. She had finally put him in his place and show him that she still had a spine in her. It was made of steel, too. It just took a very long time to find it again. 

She decides she won’t leave until she can breathe easily and she thinks her workspace will be free of any unwanted visitors. She’s going to go back in there, putting her head down, finishing her work and then leaving. There are plans forming in the back of the head to go back to her dealer on the way home seeing as it isn’t far away from work anyway, just a short detour. It’s hard, but she buries those plans for now. If she lets this singular encounter break her resolve, she’s weak. She can’t cave so easily and ruin everything. Eyes squeezed shut, Molly tries to think about the positives. Standing in this small and cramped stall might be sad, yes, but look at where she is. It’s the longest job she’s held down and if she loses it, where’d she live? What would she do if she wasn’t working here, in this familiar and comfortable space? It’s where she trained and it’s her home. It’s a mantra she repeats in her head so she can hurry her ass back to the morgue, where she’ll have to focus on what’s in front of her instead of what’s in her head.

  
  


-

  
  


Curled up on the couch with a rich hot chocolate in her hands, Toby curled up next to her, she sat and listened to the television without watching it. The rest of her working day had gone smooth. She was and still is tense. Her shoulders are tight with the tension of the day’s event, every corner she turned she expected _him_ to be there waiting for her. It was hard not to wonder how the conversation had gone down between John and the detective, if he had given the doctor the truth or blamed it on the feelings she’s always carried for him, that hasn’t been a secret for a while now. The Christmas incident had let everyone know, if they didn’t already, exactly how she felt about him. Another embarrassing moment in her life caused by the man she says she _loves._ If he did care about her though, even a little bit, he would’ve lied instead of telling John the truth. He would have to know that Molly wouldn’t ever want John to know about it. Any of it. 


	5. Chapter 5

It was the day after the Locky incident when Molly’s phone buzzed in her pocket. She had been scribbling notes all afternoon in the lab, so she quickly pulled it out for a distraction. Knowing there was a fair chance it would be either one of the Baker Street boys trying to reconcile or reach out, but she wanted to check anyway. There were responses about how it was too early forming in her head already, although she’d probably ignore it completely to save herself the torture of communication with them when she hasn’t healed at all from the wounds they’ve opened up. Instead, to her surprise, it was her dealer. When her eyes skimmed the text her heart began to race, with either excitement or anxiety she wasn’t honestly wasn’t sure which. Both, maybe. There was excitement at the idea that there was an opening for another drug-fuelled weekend. She wasn’t seeking it out herself, so it wasn’t as bad, right? That’s what Molly kept trying to tell herself. Aware that she was at work, a few colleagues around that couldn’t possibly find out what was happening on the screen in front of her, she put her phone away before she could let herself type a reply. She’d sit on this. She’d hold her resolve for a little while longer. 

The two hours until work finished seemed to drag on forever, the clock’s arms dragging themselves forward in front of her. She couldn’t help but stare at it as her thoughts kept spinning out of control. With an hour left until she went home, she slid her phone out again and typed a quick response, her chest tight. She’d take the offer to go over after work for a pick-up. There were times she didn’t think twice before responding to a text like that, yet she knew that this time it was something she should feel ashamed of. It’s a stupid fucking idea, obviously, but she wanted it anyway. _Needed_ it. Feeling relief spread through her slowly once the text had been sent off, like a heavyweight off her shoulders being lifted, she breathed out unsteadily. There was something to look forward to now, instead of another depressing and boring night in with her cat. 

  
  
  


-  
  


It came together quickly once he heard what had transpired at the hospital. It had always worked before, sending John before he dared to welcome himself back in her morgue. When it had backfired rather spectacularly, he was surprised yet he was more surprised by the nickname that should’ve died when he left that part of his life behind for this field of work. It was easy to keep his features neutral, his brain making a mental note that was shoved to the top of his priority list. There were a few reasons this name would be on Molly Hooper’s lips, the changed girl from when they first met. She’s clearly thinking about the past, he just hopes she hasn’t gone further than simply thinking about it. There’s always that need with addicts, he knows that very well himself. Even on her bad days, he had never seen that former side of Molly come back out. 

Sherlock used to be so sure that the quiet and content forensic pathologist had killed that version of herself and buried her so deep she’d never return. He wasn’t so sure anymore. There was a sinking feeling in his stomach as he listened to John describe how Molly didn’t seem like the same girl from before Eurus, before the phone call. That was a painful memory that still brings intense feelings of hatred for his sister that have been a challenge to move past. He’s trying to for his family’s sake, yet this one moment of the whole ordeal has Sherlock stuck in the emotions on it all. Everyone had always overlooked Molly, and Sherlock had relied on that fact more than once, however, she wasn’t forgotten this time. She was a coffin in front of his eyes. He sees it when he closes them, the plaque with the simple message of _I love you_ written across him. The memory physically hurt him. The sound of a heavily upset Molly filling the room, her emotions visible for not only him yet his close counterparts. He wasn’t embarrassed for her, he was angry they were there to see the invasion of her privacy. John and his brother had to watch her display her emotions for _him_ and that hurt him. 

It had hurt him so much because they weren’t meant to see it. Nobody was. It wasn’t meant to have happened because Molly wasn’t meant to be included. She’s the one he turns to for help when it becomes too much and he needs a fresh set of eyes to see what needs to be done. It’s been hard having to deal with the emotions from the last few weeks since they all went back to one person - Molly. Whatever Eurus had done to him he didn’t care about, he’s been tortured in Siberia, so how was this any worse? It was shocking to have a long-lost sister riddled with more problems than him, the most problematic in the family, yet knowing that Molly was destroyed in the process seemed to be destroying him. It was unexpected and he didn’t know how to stop it from happening, hadn’t told anyone else it was going on either. It was his burden to carry - he was just unsure how to carry it. Why did Molly Hooper have this effect on him? He wanted to know how to disconnect himself from this as he did with everything else because nothing worked. She was there, always, in his head. The look of pain in her eyes when she was waiting for him to speak. His breath had caught in his throat, he remembers, as he watched her. 

It was then everything had changed for him, even if he didn’t realise it. For so long it had been easy to push her and any feelings to do with her away, out of sight, out of mind. There were tactics that always worked to get him what he needed or wanted, which he had used against her shamelessly. She had stood by his side through all of it, even if she had slapped him or had her outbursts against him along the way. There was never any real anger or hatred towards him, he had thought. It seems that now there was and even though it was deserved he wishes he could change it. That isn’t something he’d admit out loud to anyone except maybe the woman herself but it’s the truth nonetheless. When he snapped back to the current conversation where John was rambling at him, he eased himself out of the conversation and walked down to his room without saying a word to the doctor. He needed to be alone and it seemed he needed to make a phone call. 

  
  
  


-  
  


When he was in his room, alone, he knew he needed to call Mycroft. There was worry that he’d let her slip through the cracks again and he’d lose her for good. There’d be no more Molly in his life and he wasn’t sure how that would work for him. It was more than about his work now, of course, it was about how he’d function without seeing her ever again. He couldn’t deny that their relationship was stronger than he’d ever let on before and there was a part of him that still hated to admit it to himself, even. Maybe there will always be a part of him that wished he had stayed as an unfeeling robot, uncaring for people's feelings and opinions. Now he was pulling his phone out to get to the bottom of what’s going on with Molly Hooper. It felt like the phone was to his ear in record time as he waited for his brother to pick up. “Is there anything I should know about Molly, Mycroft?” He kept it straight to the point, not wanting to start any pointless small talk. 

“Hello to you too, Sherlock. Before we talk further about this I think you should let me handle this.” Mycroft’s tone dropped from playful to deadly serious in seconds, his warning stern yet Sherlock refused to back down when it came to this. His brother should know he rarely does as he says.

He scoffed at Mycroft’s words before continuing. “Let you handle this? Like how you handled Eurus? This is important to me and _you_ don’t even know her. If I know something is wrong I can go see her and fix this.” There was a brief silence as he threw Eurus in his face, the petty jab coming from his growing annoyance at the situation. The fact that there’s something to _handle_ as tells him it’s worse than he thought originally, however, and the feeling in his stomach reminds him it’s still there. 

“You are going to have to trust that I am keeping a close eye on her and the situation, Sherlock. You can’t tell her about the surveillance now. Do you really think that would go down well? After everything she’s been put through because of us, the last thing she needs is to hear from you that you’ve been having someone watch her. I am taking this seriously, however, it isn’t uncharted territory exactly now, is it?” Sherlock felt the subtle comeback for his remark earlier and it stung, his brother was getting sick of him, he could tell him the tone his voice had taken.

  
He glared at the wall in front of him. Sherlock wanted to place all of the anger he felt right now on Mycroft for this yet he felt like he was so _stupid_ for not thinking about this beforehand. It should have been clear to him and now look at how far everything has slipped because of his lack of judgement. It was an error he couldn’t let happen again. “I want to know everything, Mycroft. Now.” He demanded, leaving no room for argument with his brother.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope everyone's staying safe, social distancing and staying home if possible.  
> Something a little different, been working on it for a little bit so it's a little bit longer than usual. It's almost 2am right now so I hope it's as good as I think it is! Enjoy. Eventually, they'll meet. We're in for a bit of a ride, everyone.


	6. Chapter 6

There was a nervousness in her belly and it was making it harder to keep walking towards her dealers place. She would, though, because it was what her body wanted her to deep down. It might be hard for her to admit it to herself but that was the simple truth of it all, she wanted another hit, another night spent thinking about everything and nothing. She’d wake up just as sad and shaky as the other day, yet the closer she got to the tiny and rundown apartment, the less she thought of it. Work was finished now and she’d checked out the second her shift was up, honestly, focused on what was coming when she left. Now she was knocking on the door, hands twisting together in front of her, from anticipation or her damn nerves she didn’t know but she was here and there was  _ no  _ going back, no time to run away with her tail between her legs in shame. When she was inside, it was just as dirty and chaotic as the last place she knew they had stayed. 

It was easy to smile and laugh with them, the people who didn’t give a fuck about anything except making some money. Having a returning customer. It was a role she was happy to play, she’d come back and try to score something for a bit cheaper than usual and leave. There was the rush of adrenaline that came when they slipped her  _ two  _ baggies this time instead of one and she knew she was in a world of trouble now. It didn’t matter, she felt  _ alive  _ and happy for the first time in a few days. When they offered her a line before she went, since they were already partaking, she didn’t stop to think twice and went ahead and did it. Years ago, this was her normal. This was her world. She didn’t dwell on it much as she left the apartment, focused on getting home without freaking out about what’s in her coat pocket. This wasn’t out of control yet - it was perfectly fine. Here and there. It was a pick me up, and unhealthy coping mechanism. She had nothing to worry about because nobody knew anything. She’d go home, shower, feed the cat and decide to figure out a game plan moving forward. How to keep herself from rushing through all of it at once and keeping her composure so if she does have to deal with nosey detectives, it’d be hard to figure out her secrets. 

The walk back to her flat was better than when she’d first left to go to work. Molly could feel the illicit substances burning a hole into her pocket the whole time, pushing her to fasten her pace. Walking up the few flights of stairs to her safe haven could be a bit of a pain in the ass but she ran up them until she was out of breath and laughing at herself. She didn’t see him until she had already gotten her keys out and was getting ready to unlock the door when she stopped dead in her tracks. There he was. The man she didn’t want to name out loud. Sherlock. He was here and he looked as striking as ever. There was a certain mood that hung around him and it made Molly feel uneasy instantly, cocaine rushing through her system as she stared at him and tried not to let it show. “What are you doing here?” she pushed out, every word forced through her teeth because she knew she had to talk yet she wanted so desperately to turn around and run down the stairs and out of the complex. 

Sherlock’s eyes bore into hers and she swallowed thickly. There was so much going through her head, one part of her screaming  _ he knows, he knows, get in the house and lock the door, he knowsheknowsheknows-  _ while the other half wanted to yell, cry and tell him everything she was feeling, consequences be damned. It was a miracle she managed to stay still and composed enough to meet his gaze. “You’re high right now. It’s worse than I thought, then.” His tone was cool and even, no judgement yet his eyes showed a certain look of sadness in them. Anger tore through Molly at his words. 

“It’s worse than you thought? Excuse you? What exactly am I to you, Sherlock, because lately all I’ve felt like is a fucking experiment to you. You-” Molly takes a breath as her eyes begin to tear up while she thinks about the phone call that changed everything for her. “You destroyed me with that phone call. Then you have the nerve to text, call and send your precious John after me to fix it. I am done being your toy thing.” Molly had kept talking even when it became painful to do so, her anger mixing with the strong emotion from the memories of that day. “I am high right now and _you_ are the last person to say anything about that. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to go and enjoy my night.” With that she pushed past him, refusing to even look at him as she fumbled trying to get the key into her door. There were tears in her eyes making it hard to see what she was doing. 

“Molly, please. I want to explain. I  _ can  _ explain things. John told me what you said and I knew somewhat wasn’t right. Don’t go back down this road. Don’t do this.” Sherlock almost sounded desperate, but Molly knew that’d be impossible because it’s  _ Sherlock. _ The only thing he cares about is John and himself. By now she had the door open and she was debating if she should slam it in his face or if that’s too dramatic “Please, Molly, don’t-”

She decided it was hardly dramatic and slammed the door before he could finish speaking. 

  
  


-

  
  
  


For a while he stayed near her apartment, staring at her door in a mix of confusion and worry. He wondered when she slipped back into this old part of herself, how it happened so easily under all of their noses. Thought about what she was probably doing inside, spiralling further into her own self-destruction and he cannot stop it right now. There’s nothing he can do, she’s more than mad and she has every right to feel the way she does. He knew all too well the dangerous temptation of the promise these drugs provide. The promise of an escape from the current situation, all of the worries and frustrations melt away. It’s why he’s always run back to them, way more than John knew about. It’s where he met Molly, also. She’d captured him from afar, her appearance sticking out in the crowd they were in. She was different from the rest, bright and intelligent. He could tell from afar she had a wild side and was deep into the world of drugs that he found himself in too, but she was kind-hearted, a rarity around these parts of London. There was a side of her that seemed too pure to be in this environment. Back then, she’d spiked his interest but he chose to get high and waste the days away instead of attempting to form any sort of relationship with another junkie, he’d thought at the time. 

If only he’d had a small idea at how his life was going to change back then. If he’d known he’d be out the front of Molly’s flat after his secret sister destroyed their relationship, he’d had thought it was more of a drug-induced hallucination than the truth. Yet, here he was. Unsure about how to proceed for the first time in quite a while. Sherlock needed her to understand the situation, how he would do  _ anything  _ to save her life even if it meant hurting her in the short-term - not something that he ever wants to do. He needs her to know that he’s so angry at his sister, which is still a weird thing to think about, angry that she’d use Molly against him like that. Sherlock doesn’t think he could convince her that it won’t happen again and he can’t say for certain that it wouldn’t. That doesn’t mean he wouldn’t do anything in his power to protect her at all costs, which is why she’s under constant surveillance. He wanted her to know everything, everything about what happened and how he feels about it and how it’s  _ eating him up inside.  _

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like we're picking up now!! It's moving, guys!! only took forever.   
> thanks for reading still and the comments. i love hearing the feedback.   
> stay safe out there


	7. Chapter 7

Things went quiet after Sherlock appeared at her flat, wanting to mend the damage that was irreparable in her eyes. She let herself dive headfirst to her old addiction, spending the next two weeks as high as a kite every night and rocking up to work without any sleep, wired and ready. Nobody had raised an eyebrow at her, the perks of being the quiet one among her workmates paid off sometimes. It was exhausting simply _being_ at work. It’s when the tiredness hits her body, drains her of every bit of emotion and motivation until she feels hollowed out. She’d slip into autopilot and fill out documents until her hands cramped and the only work left was stuff she didn’t have in her to even try, so she’d call it a day and head home. It was as she was leaving work on the second afternoon since the Sherlock incident that she felt like she was finally losing control of her dirty habit. Without thinking Molly had tucked the remainder of a little bag into her purse before she left for the morning and it wasn’t until she was almost out of Bart’s she had an idea. Reckless and utterly _stupid,_ sure, but once it was in her head she had to. 

There’s that persistent itch in her throat that has gotten worse since her usage started up again (unsurprisingly). It’s in the back of her mind all the time and it’s what pushed her feet forward, to the toilets, even as a small part of her shouted at how much of an idiot she was being. She breathed out deeply once she was tucked in the bathroom stall, door locked behind her and she sat on the toilet to stop and think for a moment. Without it, this dependency, life would go back to the boring and depression way things were. She’d long after a man that loved himself before anyone else. It was hard, too hard to bear after everything she’d done for him. Her life seemed to be littered with failures and they were bringing her down but this, this offered her a minor escape. It was a needed break from the worries that constantly plagued her. Maybe that’s why it was easy to take out that baggie, pour a tiny bit onto the back of her hand for a quick boost. Shameful, yes, but she was beyond her shame now. She had none left from all of Sherlock’s degrading insults. Thinks she lost the last shred of it at _ that  _ Christmas party. 

The whole thing was quick, easy and discreet. Nobody was in the bathroom so she left undetected after a brief check in the mirror on the way out. Already, she felt a little more like herself as she was walking out of her workplace. She felt the thrill of such an illicit act when no one knew her secret. It was intoxicating and dangerous, that feeling, yet it put a small and hesitant smile on her face anyway. The voice of reasoning receded as she walked home and it was in these moments she wishes she could go out again. Even when she’s high she can’t bring herself to leave the house yet she’ll get dressed up in old clothes she avoided wearing for years yet couldn’t bring herself to throw out. It was fun, something to do while she was in the mood and thinking on the old days. Days when the time was barely relevant to them and there was nowhere she had to be except for wherever she’d find the next score at a good price. For now, she’d settle for dancing around her house with Toby, ignoring her problems as they stacked up around her. 

By the time she walked through her apartment door, Molly was feeling more upbeat and positive than she had all day. She was ready to destress and end up staying awake until who knows what time. What she wasn’t expecting upon her entrance, however, was a certain consulting detective in her kitchen with the stash of cocaine she’d left in her bedroom in front of him on the counter It was as if someone had thrown a bucket of ice-cold water over her. Before she could even protest, which she wanted to do very fucking loudly at the intrusion of her privacy, he spoke first. Eyes stuck to the mess in front of him as he spoke. “You walked away from Mycroft. Refused to get into the car. You won’t answer my texts. You won’t answer John’s. How many times have you visited our old friends this week, Molly? Why do you want to go back down this road when you fought your way off it so long ago?” It wasn’t until he finished speaking that he looked up at her, his eyes wide as he took her in. “You’re high now. There’s more on you, then. When would you hav- oh. This is already bad enough, but now you’re taking it with you to work. Jesus Christ, Molly.” His eyes are glued to hers and for a second her anger dies down as she looks at him, obviously wound-up and  _ worried.  _ He looks  _ scared.  _

“You broke into my flat. What the fuck, Sherlock? Have you ever thought the reason why I’m not answering your texts or accepting your brother's help is that  _ I don’t want it?  _ You  _ do not  _ get the judge my choices - you’re just as bad! I’m honestly so mad at you right now, I want you to leave.” She couldn’t help the outburst at him, anger coming back full force the moment she took in the severity of the situation, it doesn’t matter if he looks worried. That won’t get him out of it this time. When they were on good terms, he was always welcome here. He’s the last person she wants to give a warm welcome to right now. When she stops talking, he doesn’t move from his spot at the kitchen counter. Those eyes are drilling into hers and she’s breathing heavily and fuelled up drugs when she opens her mouth again. “What don’t you understand, Sherlock? I’m done. I have given you everything I have for so long! What’d I get out of it? Huh? Nothing! You don’t care about me! Look around, I’m alone. I live with my cat. I have no one, and no one cares. Let me be alone in fucking peace at least!” She was yelling by the end of it, emotions all over the place as she let her frustration and angst out at him. Her cheeks felt wet with tears she hadn’t even noticed during her rant and she didn’t care if she was crying in front of him right now. 

Sherlock stood there in some form of shock Molly would guess. He straightened himself up, one of his hands running through his hair as he let out a deep sigh, clearly trying to process everything. Molly, on the other hand, tried her best to get herself under control. She wiped the tears away, took a few deep breaths and stood her ground so he knew she was serious about him leaving. “Molly..” Sherlock began to speak but seemed to get choked up and she was ready to call him out on trying to manipulate her into feeling sorry for him. It’s his backup strategy to help crack her resolve whenever she’s mad at him usually. “I can’t leave. If I go, If you’re left alone to destroy yourself, I worry about what will happen. It’s all I can think about. Nothing can take my mind off of you, Molly. It’s clear you don’t believe me and with so much evidence behind your reasoning I can understand why but I need you to.. I need you to believe that this comes from a place within me that I’ve quite frankly never put in the effort to figure out. It always scared me. What I’ve continually denied myself of feeling for you scares me.” 

There was silence between them after Sherlock’s... Admission of feelings? Molly’s head was starting to hurt and she honestly didn’t know what to believe, she’d never seen Sherlock in such a state and he looked so vulnerable that she  _ wanted  _ to believe him. Yet, she knew him. There had been so many attempts at emotional blackmail, even if many had been much minor than this. After the phone call as well, can she believe this? Maybe she was being too harsh now since she felt like demanding he leaves anyway. Was that too harsh after everything he’d done? Or was she being the dramatic one, throwing everything away to get high again? Molly opened her mouth to talk, although nothing came out. She looked down at her feet, feeling her eyes tear up again thinking over Sherlock’s words. If he meant them, truly meant them and there was no deception here at all, then that.. That was what she had been waiting for since she’d developed her crush on him years ago. Before she was sure she wanted to yell at him for attempting to manipulate her again or fall to the floor in a puddle of tears, Sherlock spoke again. 

“I’m not standing here and professing my love to you, Molly. I can’t promise I can love you - I don’t know if I’m capable of it at all. However, I can’t deny that there are feelings for you that I’ve never felt for anyone else before and it physically pains me to think there’s a possibility you could overdose, alone, and I’d lose you forever. I can’t let that happen to you.” He sounded broken as he mentioned her potentially dying and this time Molly did let herself slide to the floor. At the same time, Sherlock moved forward and joined her, kneeling in front of her. He didn’t make a move to grab her - which she was grateful for. They stayed on the floor while Molly’s mind tried to wrap her head around everything that had just happened. 


	8. Chapter 8

It was weird to think there was a time when she had dreamed about Sherlock proclaiming his love to her, after a dramatic entrance into her morgue. He’d be there with his coat flying around behind him, that purple shirt that  _ stretches  _ across his chest so easily since it’s that little bit too small for him but he wears it anyway. He’d have his scarf wrapped around his neck and he’d have this look in his eyes that always sent shivers up her spine in her mind, always made her ask him what was wrong in her dream. The way he looked at her and told her that he loved her and was such an idiot for not seeing it sooner always woke her up, hot and sweaty from the intensity of the whole ordeal. Things between them now were awkward honestly, not the way she’d imagine it would be after her dream scenario came to life basically. Molly didn’t need to hear that he loved her, she needed to hear that she wasn’t going crazy. That there was more to them than manipulated feelings and avoidance.

Her house seemed to be undisturbed by his forced entry, besides the evidence of what she’s been up to spread all over the bench, as she looked around from her position on the floor. Part of her was ashamed to have it laid out in front of Sherlock for him to scrutinize and deduce every insecurity she's had. Another part of her, the addicted side, didn’t want it to be thrown away. Didn’t want it to go to waste, all that money down the drain basically. Nothing anybody said could take that side away from her now that she’s been feeding that side of herself these last few weeks. Heavily. There was no judgement from him but rather understanding since he’s someone who struggles with some of the same demons as her. She didn’t feel like talking but she wanted him to tell her more about what he meant. She wants to make it clear that this doesn’t mean she’s going to go back to being someone he can walk all over again. They can’t go back to how they used to be, she can’t handle that. It feels like she’s finally hit rock bottom and she isn’t sure she can get back up from this right now, too overwhelmed to deal with any of it.

  
  


-

  
  


For a while, they ignored the substance on the table. Instead, he made her tea while Molly dragged her ass to her couch to sit down. There were a lot of things she wanted at this moment but she’d settle for something hot and soothing in her hands while she slowly tried to process everything through her growing headache. It was a comfortable silence while she waited for her drink to be passed to her, which she thanked Sherlock for when he bought it over to her and sat next to her. It was too hot, burned her throat as she sipped at it but that was how she liked it. Sweet, not too milky. Of course, by now Sherlock had how Molly liked her tea memorized. His deep voice pulled her out of the seemingly endless thoughts about tea. “I have a sister. I didn’t know and my parents thought she was dead. Mycroft was hiding her away in a prison. She.. she is everything I’ve always feared I’d turn out to be one day. She orchestrated the phone call. It’s a long story and honestly, Molly, I haven’t gotten over some of the things. Once I returned home to London and everything was such a mess that I turned back to morphine that night without a thought about anyone or anything else except my need to forget everything.” 

Molly knew she looked surprised, jaw hanging open when he revealed another Holmes sibling. She went to talk, yet Sherlock shook his head. “I will answer any and every question you have about Eurus. That is the least you deserve and I know that it doesn’t make what happened any easier on you. I just want you to know it wasn’t some sort of experiment, I didn’t want to do it. It felt terrible doing that to you and it made me realise a lot of things about myself.” Sherlock stared at his cup of tea in front of him and Molly already had a list of questions ready for whenever they could both mentally handle that talk. “The morphine has been an inconsistent indulgence, given that John has been keeping a close eye on me. I thought you should know about it. There are things I’m going to tell you that’ll probably upset you further but they’re things I have to say if you want the whole truth from me.” He looked equally as broken as she did. Deflated, empty and overwhelmed with emotions which were a very rare sight for the consulting detective. Her friend from years ago. 

“I do want the whole truth. I didn’t expect that to involve a secret sister, but I’m not surprised either. I will listen, I will try to keep an open mind and work through our issues because it’s beyond draining the way it’s been. Trying to make myself hate you is exhausting and crushing. Sometimes it feels so real, I feel like I could live somewhat happily without ever seeing you again and then I’ll be in bed coming down from everything and wanting things to go back to when they were simple. When I’d watch you do your experiments and talk about them passionately with the stupid crush that I’ve had since the old days.” Molly didn’t expect for all of that to come pouring out her mouth. Back in those days, neither of them had the money to keep up their habits as they did now. There were ways around that, though, if one was desperate enough. 

Sherlock almost smiled faintly at the mention of their past selves. “I remember when we first met. I don’t know how I was as high as a kite on a mix of almost everything. You stood out from the crowd of girls you’d walked in the room with. I didn’t think our lives would still be connected all this time later, though I wouldn’t see anyone from that time again once I managed to stay clean for longer than six months.” His eyes catch Molly’s as he talks and she knows they’re both stuck in the memories of their former selves which don’t feel very far away from who they are now. “I thought I’d have gotten it together by now, yet I feel like I’m still the lost cause everyone has to put up with. I’ve caused damage everywhere I go. Maybe I’m an asshole for saying that this, you and I, is the only thing I’m worried about fixing. If I can’t do it and we can’t get past everything that’s happened, then I will leave and let you move on.” His voice sounds strained on the last part like it would physically hurt him if he couldn’t make amends. It’s comforting to know that he’s trying this time. She’d be lying if she didn’t wonder how legitimate this is although she can see the genuine concern for herself on his face. Molly told herself all she had to do was listen to what he had to say and then make her own judgement on what she wanted to do from there. 

“With the way you were back then, I don’t think any of us thought you’d have made it out alive, Sherlock. I’m glad you did, even though we’re in this situation right now. Maybe it’s time you started explaining how we ended up here. Let’s just rip it off like a bandaid.” Molly guessed it was going to be a long story, in which she’d probably end up going through a range of emotions before it ended. It isn’t how she planned her night to go and the man next to her certainly looks like he wants to melt through the floor at her words. It was going to be a long and draining night, she guessed. 

  
  


-

Luckily for her, she hadn’t been rostered on to work for the next two days. When she woke in the darkness of her bedroom, light trying to peek through under the curtains, she wished she could go back to sleep. Instead, she layed in bed with her head hurting and everything from the last twelve hours going through her head. It hadn’t been easy to listen to what happened, learning about the surveillance from Mycroft and the hurt Sherlock had felt at his brother's coverup. Both of them were raw and upset about everything and there were still things left unsaid that neither of them could force themselves to say with emotions running so high already. There was so much embarrassment upon learning that they  _ saw  _ her when she was on the phone. They had to watch her lose touch with reality briefly. She wonders if it looked pathetic. Sherlock had apologised, voice thick with emotion and held back tears and it had shocked her when he’d insisted that she take her time accepting his apology and if it never came he’d understand. It left Molly feeling... Torn. 

There was a part of her that could see how this truly was out of his control, not something he could have expected or planned for. He’s as much as a victim as any of them in Eurus’ plans. At the same time, there’s more history between them that lead to this moment. If there wasn’t Eurus would have left her alone, so even if “dead” sister could see the dynamic between them. It had looked like Sherlock had bitten his tongue when they talked about the phone call, keeping something to himself and she wanted to know. She hadn’t pushed, her emotions had been all over the place and she’d cried when they came to this topic. Things between them were still messy and uncertain except now it wasn’t so unstable. He had left in the early hours of the morning when it became clear that the struggle to keep her eyes open was becoming too much for her. Sherlock had walked her to her bedroom door, probably to deter her from collecting what was hers from the kitchen counter. It had been completely forgotten by her until they had stood up from the couch, legs stiff and back protesting from being in the same position for so long. 

Surprisingly, Molly didn’t protest when she realised he would probably take it and dispose of it for her. It wasn’t a good idea to keep that much so available when her emotions are running so high. He’d left after he thanked her for listening to him. All she could do at that point was nod, too exhausted to register anything except her head hitting the pillow. Now she had to spend the day sober  _ and  _ processing so much emotional turmoil it might drown her instead. 


	9. Chapter 9

When night rolled around and Molly had spent all of her time pacing around the house, thinking and going through every emotion under the sun, she realised that it hadn’t helped her sort out the mess of thoughts in her head much. There was a better understanding behind everything, yet there are other issues between the two of them than the phone call alone. The pain in the consulting detective’s eyes had been so real she could feel the emotion in them and it was different than the times when he’d try to twist her around his finger. No, she  _ knew _ that this was real torment he’d been going through over this. Molly can’t let everything go because of his hurt emotions, though. It wasn’t long ago she had written off their relationship completely. Years after they drifted apart after getting sober, their lives were entwined more than ever. It truly scared her that his sister could cause so much damage and nobody realised what was happening before it was too late. 

Even from afar, she had known that Molly mattered to him on some deeper level than Sherlock himself realised. It made sense why he sounded so _ desperate _ on the phone. When she thinks back to the event he had sounded impatient and she thought he was frustrated with  _ her  _ at the time, not Eurus. She struggled to try to put into words how much that experience had hurt her in front of him. It was embarrassing, even though they were talking about it late at night in the privacy of her own home. The crush she’s always had for Sherlock has hardly been discussed by either of them out loud in front of each other. She felt exposed the whole time and it had made her desperate for some sort of escape from the situation. It was hard and uncomfortable but it was something she knew she had to do before she could even start to heal from it. Sherlock had remained mostly quiet, eyes unable to meet hers when she became emotional during her side of events. 

Now, hours later and the couch empty of the consulting detective, she felt alone again. Toby wasn’t even lingering around her. He probably sensed her unpleasant mood from afar. Her body was longing to just get high and forget about it all for a few hours and the longer she spent trying to distract herself from everything the more she was cracking. Her house was cleared of drugs, thanks to Sherlock, and she was losing her mind because she didn’t want to be clean yet. She didn’t want to go back to reality. There was a constant tug of war inside her between the rational  _ adult  _ side of her that wanted to keep her career, her sanity and her bank account happy. She wanted a roof over her head and stability, something she had yearned for  _ years.  _ The other side, the addict side, has been front and centre for weeks now. She doesn’t care about anything except quieting it all down. The anxiety, the stress and sadness of it all. There’s no need to worry when she’s as high as can be with nowhere to be except in the moment. She wants to feel free and numb. 

  
  


-

  
  
  


It was sad watching it all disappear down the toilet. He had snuck back into 221B after leaving Molly’s house in the early hours of the morning. John was still asleep when he returned and he took the quiet hours between night and day to dispose of this for the woman in his life who was making him  _ feel  _ and face his problems. Keeping things from his doctor was getting harder and harder as their friendship aged. John’s ability to pick up on Sherlock’s moods or plans had become almost annoying to deal with. Even so, he will always be capable of hiding things of the utmost importance to himself and right now, that is Molly and what repairing everything he managed to do to their relationship. Of course, he had to tell John enough to keep him “in the loop”, or so he thought he was, but only Mycroft, Lestrade and himself knew about how he’d met Molly. Greg was the one he had sobered up for since he promised cases and a life Sherlock had wanted for so long. During that time he had spent a few less than pleasant nights talking about everything. His life, his past, where he’d come from, how he got into drugs and who he met while on the streets. Molly’s name had come up briefly, in passing. 

He was lost in his thoughts as he poured out each bag into the toilet. It wasn’t easy to do but he wouldn’t dare use this. He wouldn’t do that, regardless of how easy it would be to do so. Part of him wonders if it had crossed Molly’s mind that he might have taken it off of her hands to use. That same part of him is trying to rationalize crossing that line and doing it, behind the action behind his thoughts but he refuses - even if his body wants it. Molly had been living a clean and happy life for years. Well, he isn’t sure if he can call it happy anymore. It looks like the years have taken a toll on her mentally and Sherlock knows he is more than partly responsible. His friendship has proven to be a bad omen of sorts. This time, though, it will not end terribly as it did for Victor. No, he will right his wrongs. He’s going to drown in the guilt he feels if he doesn’t. That’s what brings him back to drugs every so often, even if it’s a one-time thing. It was easier when John was living with Mary in their newly wedded bliss. 

Now their shared apartment is filled with kids toys and a sense of loss still hangs in the air from time to time. Their relationship has almost fully mended, mainly thanks to a lot of time and discussions, sometimes even with a therapist present. Sherlock had been committed to doing whatever John needed to do. He was fuelled by guilt and pure  _ terror _ at losing someone who he could call a friend. He’d never been able to keep someone around for this long, especially since they had lived together for more than half of the friendship. It was unheard of for Sherlock Holmes. Now he had a taste of what it could be like to have a relatively normal relationship he couldn’t let it go, couldn’t let John go. It feels the same for Molly. He feels like he’s been cast out into an ocean made up of all of his failures, regrets and mistakes. There’s so much guilt in his lungs he’s drowning in it. It’s all he can feel when he finally flushes the toilet and watches it all go down the drain. 

There have been many difficult situations he’s been in as a consulting detective. He has risked his life to chase murderers and lied to members of the deceased's family to figure out what happened but having to do this, having to deal with his own emotions all of the time? This feels like the hardest thing he’s had to do. He doesn’t even want to do it anymore but he doesn’t have a choice now, he’s stuck in his. He’s trying to claw his way out but it seems futile. Maybe he’d be better off letting himself drown. If it meant Molly came out of this happy, he probably would. Staring down at the now clear water he feels like he needs to sleep. It’s a rarity when he feels like he needs to shut himself down but this time he does and he knows he doesn’t have what he needs to help him do that here - swore he wouldn’t keep anything in the house while Rosie was here. Instead of throwing himself on his bed and attempting to sleep, which would be futile, he grabs his coat from the back of his door and decides to head out into the brisk early morning. 

  
  


-

  
  
  


This was selfish of him, surely. He should feel terrible for being here, for knocking on her door when he’s this far gone but here’s here anyway. Against his better judgement, against the part of him screaming to just go home and face an angry John and an unsurprised Mycroft. His brother had warned him it’d lead him back here, dealing with his old demons so head-on. Sherlock simply had to see Molly, had to have his eyes on her because he’s so paranoid she won’t be there to answer the door and she’d really be gone this time and the thought of that had made his chest hurt. It felt like an eternity when the door finally cracked open to a wide-eyed Molly and he felt himself breathe easier, falling back against the wall behind him in relief. She opened the door further and pulled him inside. “Do you know how late it is, Sherlock? What are you even doing here?” She sounded confused and irritated at his unexpected arrival.

“I had to see you. Make sure you’re safe.” He knew there wasn’t much time left before she figured out he was high. “Needed to know.” He managed to get out, words beginning to slur the slightest bit as he spoke. “I know what you’ll ask and it isn’t your stuff. Flushed that.” The room felt like it was starting to spin as he stared at Molly like she’d disappear if he dared to look away. He could tell there was sadness in her eyes as she took in his appearance and he felt unsteady on his feet, he needed to sit down but he didn’t move yet either. 

Molly shook her head as she grabbed ahold of his elbow, guiding him to sit with her on the couch. “What did you take? I’m glad it wasn’t what you left here with this morning. Did you go there once you left here?” He could hear the worry in her voice and he felt ashamed of himself. He didn’t deserve her worry. 

It was then he realised that he didn’t even know the time right now. “I left Baker Street in the morning, once I got rid of the cocaine... I wanted to sleep. The only way I can sleep without any nightmares is with drugs. Morphine.” It was exhausting to talk but he felt like if he could at least explain himself a little bit then she wouldn’t look so concerned over him. He put his head against the back of the couch and let his eyes close, feeling like he was sinking down into deep and dark waters. It was the morphine, he knew that which is why he took it. He wants to feel like this like he was floating into nothingness and nobody could stop it. Before she could respond he reaches his hand out to rest on her knee, needing her to anchor him into place somewhat. 


	10. Chapter 10

“I feel guilty.” He says it before she can ask him another question. “Your entanglement with me has landed you here and now I still can’t help but want to run here when it becomes too much out there. Unsurprisingly I ended up spending my day in an old warehouse on the other side of town, a place we had been at a few times years ago. Suddenly I had to come and see you. Make sure you were still whole and now I don’t want to go home.” Sherlock sounded just as tired as before but more put together, having spent a while laying on Molly’s couch in silence while he was at the ceiling. He looked at her as he finished speaking, trying to read the emotions on her face. Deduce what would come next. 

Molly was lounging back just like him, head tilted to the side to look at him while he spoke. “You don’t have to leave. I’m trying to figure everything out and even then you’re in the back of my head. I’m here because of my own choices, Sherlock. I tried so hard to ignore that itch all damn day, you know. Thought about what I was doing, about how life used to be back then for us. When I’d snort anything just to stop feeling things for a while. Not even that stopped me from going back out earlier tonight, so our days were kinda similar. That isn’t your fault.” She gives him the best smile she can manage, a small upturn of her lips that’s filled with sadness and pain and it hurts him to see. There are those  _ feelings  _ in him that want to reach out and protect her but he doesn’t know what to do except keep his eyes on her. 

“All I want is to see you be happy, Molly. Truly.” It’s whispered between them, an admission that sounds so personal and intimate filled in the empty space. She leans forward then and Sherlock doesn’t know what’s happening until her lips are pressing against his. It's gentle and fragile like they both are right now. Sherlock can’t help but lean into it, unable to remember the last time he had kissed someone and it had made him feel anything other than discomfort. He could feel the warmth from her lips on his and it made him want more of it. There was nothing else in his head besides this moment, the drugs in his system slowing him down and making it impossible to focus on anything other than this, than her. 

  
  
  


-

  
  
  


It was dark in her bedroom but it was comfortable, they were comfortable. The silence between them wasn’t awkward. It felt like they had talked enough for the last few days and here they could just exist, keeping each other company through a time when they’re both messed up inside. It’s unlike any other time he’s been here as an escape from the outside when he’s on a cocktail of drugs and doesn’t want to be found. She would offer him somewhere warm and comforting to come down, he had even detoxed here and it had been a few long days of locking him in the bathroom essentially while he vomited and pegged for  _ a little more  _ to get through. Sherlock would always sleep in her bed and she’d sleep in the spare bedroom or the couch, whatever was comfier. He would be moody and temperamental with her, demanding cups of teas and ignoring her for long stretches of time, locked away in her bedroom. It could be frustrating to deal with him when he showed up unannounced usually, although she takes comfort in the fact that he isn’t on the streets somewhere. 

Now, they’re laying together. Just laying. Molly is floored by her actions from earlier, unaware she had the ability to push herself to kiss him, something she’s always wanted to do. It had felt right. There’s no regret, not in the slightest and she didn’t think he regretted it either. Not if he let her into the bed this time. It had been a subtle request. Molly had told him she was going to bed, determined not to let him force her to sleep elsewhere in her own home anymore. This time, however, he had asked if he could stay with her. It’d taken her aback hearing him ask for something from her in such a vulnerable way. In response, Molly had taken his hand and they walked to her room together. She could feel herself starting to become sleepy as she lay and thought about how they ended up here. Sherlock’s eyes were on her and she didn’t feel scrutinized. He was seeing her, the real her that has clawed itself out of a dark part of her. “Are you tired?” She asked quietly, not wanting to disturb the peace and quiet that was settled over them. 

“Exhausted.” He murmured, eyes sliding closed. When Molly looked at him she saw how tired he was, his eyes were sunken in and he looked more pale than usual in the glow of the dark. “Do you want me here in the morning?” 

The question surprised her and she took a second to think before she responded. “Sherlock, if you want to stay here, then stay. I don’t mind.” She didn’t. Truly. For a once in their relationship the dynamic between them had shifted. In the privacy of her home, her bedroom, where they both feel safe, there were no shields up between them. Their arms were touching as they lay next to each other, their hands next to each other but not quite touching. Molly didn’t expect to be cuddled and spooned to sleep, god, no. By kissing Sherlock she had sent a message of hope that the things to come are positive for them. It might end with them walking away from whatever they are completely or they might be able to define what it is between them into something that works for both of them. She’s pretty sure she’s too invested into it to walk away now though. 

  
  
  


-

  
  
  
  


Sherlock awoke to the front door slamming and his head was pounding the second he opened his eyes, which he squinted when the brightness inside the bedroom overwhelmed them. He needed a dark black coffee in his hands and a long hot shower before he could start to feel normal again, he knows this state of being all too well. He overdid it yesterday and now his body was making its opinion on his behaviour known. The other side of the bed was cold when he stretched his hand across to feel it so he assumed Molly had been out of bed for a while, maybe she was returning from somewhere then. His mind felt sluggish yet he tried to run through a list of possibilities in his head. He wanted to know what he could be facing when he made his way down there. 

There was another slam of a door and that prompted him to get up and out of the bedroom, still wearing the pants he arrived in yesterday. Or this morning, he wasn’t sure what would be more accurate right now. Taking the stairs two at a time on the way down he was already looking around the room for anything out of place, any intruders or clues as to what’s going on. He notices the bathroom door is shut, the light shining through from underneath the door. Quietly, he walks towards it, his clouded mind desperately trying to pull himself out of the drug-induced fog he’d caused. “Molly?” He called out, voice sounding more confident than he felt. 

When he was at the door he could hear the water running and he was trying to narrow down the possibility of things that could be happening behind the closed door. He didn’t want to feel paranoid and overreact when he felt like things between them were starting to look hopeful yet there was a sinking feeling in his stomach that he couldn’t place. Muffled through the door he heard Molly. “Go away, Sherlock. I’m fine,” she said yet to Sherlock, she didn’t sound fine. She sounded almost… slower than usual. He put his ear against the door, confused as to what he should do. 

“What’s going on?” He said, trying to speak louder enough for her to hear over the shower running. Soon he became uncomfortable with the silence that he was getting and he tried to open the door, warning her before he tried to turn the knob. “I’m coming in there.” 

  
It was then he heard things falling and a very clear  _ smash  _ and he kicked into overdrive. “No, don’t, Sherlock-” he cut Molly off as he rattled at the doorknob, fear beginning to creep into his head. Something wasn’t right. There was a thud from behind the door and at that point Sherlock used his shoulder to smash against the door, determination fuelling him to  _ open the fucking door  _ already and get in. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> leaving ya's on a cliff hanger! won't be for too long hopefully and I also hope everyone ready still enjoys this.   
> stay safe and sane out there!


	11. Chapter 11

Molly wasn’t sure why she couldn’t get back to sleep. She managed to get an hour of rest before she was awake again, this time feeling unsettled and uncomfortable in bed. Sherlock was lying quietly next to her and she listened to the slight snore he had while she tried to talk herself into sleeping again. Her mind had been relatively peaceful before she fell asleep and she remembered feeling hopeful for a brief second. It all felt pointless to her now. She couldn’t even say why. Her body was sore and it seemed her mind had fallen down a dark rabbit hole. Maybe she should wake Sherlock up and find whatever comfort she could yet she couldn’t bring herself to, paranoid it’ll end up the same way it always used to. She knows it’s irrational to think that he's proven himself to be changing and trying to grow but she can’t shake the thoughts. The worry that he really is just trying to manipulate her. Maybe it’s all a part of another experiment, trying to see if he is truly capable of feeling anything for her. It hurt her to think about. Especially when she looked at him sleeping next to her. Peaceful. He was oblivious to the war going on inside her head. Her anxiety and depression-fighting through every piece of logical thinking that stood in their way. 

It wasn’t long before she was slowly and quietly pulling herself off the warm bed, grabbing some probably dirty pants from her floor to get changed into when she exited her room. She wouldn’t disturb him with her own patheticness. She didn’t need to know if her worst thoughts could become a reality right now. No, she needed fresh air and something to pull her out of her emotions. Part of her felt bad if he was to wake and find her gone. He knows where she would’ve gone and Molly knows he wouldn’t judge her. Maybe he’d be saddened by her actions yet he wouldn’t dare to judge her. They had made no promises to each other, no one has told her she has to stop. All she can think of is that there’s an easy escape from this life out there for her if she wanted it. It’s tempting. No more anxieties or worries, no more tough situations and dealing with her feelings. She could leave it all behind and there would be minimal damage left behind in her wake. It’s hard to picture Sherlock mourning her death. Would he cry? Kneel at her gravestone and feel remorse for all of his wrongdoings? Would it send him further into his own addictions? 

It was stuck in her mind as she pulled on the pants from last night before heading down the stairs and grabbing a jacket. She felt as if she was stuck on autopilot, having done this routine so many times in the last few weeks it was shameful. Doesn’t seem to stop her from going back and sinking further into it all still. This time she wasn’t sure what she would come home with or what her goal was but she left anyway, keys in her pocket next to her phone. It felt like there was a dark cloud hanging over her as she felt the cold air on her face. It was refreshing but it did nothing to change her current mood. Everything seemed so dull and lifeless around her like the life was being sucked out of everywhere she went with this depression hanging over her. 

  
  
  


-

  
  
  


On the second attempt he managed to throw the door wide open, almost falling forward at the sudden movement yet he landed on his feet and looked down to find a scene he was dreading more than anything. Molly was on the floor. There was a smashed small bottle on the floor with a needle next to it and Sherlock could feel himself shaking as he rushed forward, feeling for what proves to be a weak and unsteady pulse. Sherlock swears and begins to search her pockets for her phone, dialling Mycroft’s phone number as fast as he humanely could as he tries to wake Molly, opening her eyes to reveal constricted pupils that terrified him. She felt cold in his arms as he pulled her close to him. “I need help at Molly’s house, now, right fucking now Mycroft. She’s overdosing. Help me, Mycroft,” he was yelling at the phone when he heard his brother on the other end, eyes never leaving Molly’s face, his eyes blurring with tears that he can’t stop. This situation doesn’t feel real to him. Usually, it’s him passed out on the floor, pulse weak. It wasn’t meant to be like this. 

“They’re on the way, Sherlock. Remain calm. For her.” His brother would have sounded as cool as ever to anyone else but he could hear the subtle change in his tone. The worry that was there. 

“Fuck being calm! This isn’t meant to be happening!” He felt like he was beginning to sound desperate. It wasn’t meant to happen, though. She was meant to start to get herself fully clean and sober again and begin processing everything that's happened in the last few months. Sherlock knew it would be the only way to properly move forward. He believed Molly had fallen deeper into it than she ever wanted to but that didn’t matter now. Part of him wants to blame himself because he knows how easily the emotions are completely fucked up during the rollercoaster that drugs cause. It just wasn’t something he was expecting. 

His brother sighs through the phone and it sounds sad, heavy. “It wasn’t meant to happen, Sherlock. But it has. We save her and we get the both of you clean,  _ for good.”  _ It almost sounded like a plea to him and a part of him always knew he’d have to stay sober if he wanted this to work out yet hearing it out loud for the first time makes his stomach twist in an uncomfortable way. He was starting to hear sirens in the background. His brother really was quick. 

“I can hear them. We need to save her first.” was his stern reply before he heard the disconnect of her phone. The sirens were getting louder and he felt useless as he held onto Molly, keeping her mainly tuned on her side in case she starts vomiting. There was nothing he could do except wait for them to come and help. She looked terrible and the thought of her feeling low enough to either intentionally overdose or misjudge it because she didn’t care was making him want to yell and scream at everyone. 

  
  


-

  
  
  


Waking up was a terrible idea, the brightness overwhelmed her and her body was sore and stiff. She knew instantly she was in a hospital and she couldn’t bring herself to feel anything about the situation yet. There’s a large part of her that is still shocked by her actions that were fuelled by her low and dangerous thoughts that had come on suddenly and kept getting worse until she acted on them. She attempted to open her eyes again and was successful this time, although she was still squinting because it made her eyes hurt. It was daytime and the fluorescent lights above her were more intense than the miserable-looking London day outside. Her throat was dry and she began to look around the room when she spotted him. Hunched over in the most likely uncomfortable hospital chair, sound asleep, was Sherlock. His dark curls were messy and he looked stressed and tired, even in his sleep. That was probably her fault. Molly tried her hardest not to make a sound to wake him and instead take in the rare sight. 

This was a scarce occurrence - for her to see him like this. Almost at peace, if that was ever achievable for someone like him. He wasn’t constantly thinking for a change and he needed it more than he let himself do it. He’d use drugs to either fuel his stretches of insomnia and brainpower, usually during a case, or he’d use them to make himself incapable of doing anything but lay in one place and waste the day in and out of consciousness and the darker side of his thoughts. She’d seen that too many times. It wasn’t the first time she found herself wondering how it always ends up like this again. Both of them have somehow survived for this long while all they’ve done is continually tried different ways to destroy themselves. She managed to talk herself into feeling like it’d be better off trying to throw it all away and end it because that’d be easier than getting her life back together and trusting Sherlock not to hurt her again. This man sitting next to her has tried to prove that this isn’t another manipulation but she remembers feeling so paranoid, so depressed it pulled her down into the tiny voices of doubts and insecurities. It’s the vicious cycle of drugs. 

Slowly she stretched out her arm to tap on his knee, her throat in desperate need of some water. She didn’t want to disturb him but also didn’t have the strength to force herself out of bed right now. Her body felt like it had really been through something unpleasant and it was her own fault, obviously, but it didn’t make it any fun. There was no fun morphine drip to take advantage of at her disposal, considering that was the drug that landed her in this situation. There was a part of her that though it’d be like drifting to sleep. It was a painkiller, it’d be a smooth way out. Maybe it would’ve been if he hadn't intervened. When his eyes jump open at the touch, she flinches in surprise and then from the pain of moving her body that quickly, she’s glad he did. She’s glad someone could step in when she allowed herself to get the best of her. Sherlock quickly relaxed and moved close when he realised who woke him. “Hi,” he said and Molly couldn’t help the sad smile that she gave him, eyes becoming watery as the reality of the whole situation hit her. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted to have this up a little earlier but it's now, after the cliffhanger, that my laptop wants to show how much it hates me. I feel like we had to have a little more drama before anything too beautiful can happen! Hopefully, you like it, whoever is out here still reading it. Be safe.

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, Sherlock fandom.  
> I am writing this because I love Molly Hooper deeply and I love an angsty and messed up Sherlock. I want a different side of Molly to be shown. I've always imagined it, so why not write it? Fuck it, yolo, whatever.  
> Hopefully you like it. Please let me know if you do.  
> Thanks for reading.


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